Saturday, December 31, 2011

Julan was waiting up anxiously
for her in the Winged Guar, and though he looked relieved as she entered, he
seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk. He left Fen alone, and she went
straight to bed, willing her mind to forget the hopelessness of her situation.

Late the next morning, Fen
briefly explained Barenziah’s plan of learning from Fedris Hler the Temple. They crossed
through the Plaza Brindisi Dorum to the TempleCourtyard
under a bleak, grey sky, and there were few people out despite the hour being
close to midday. Mournhold was so often sunny and bright that its inhabitants
rarely spent their time outside on days such as this.

The Temple’s high-ceilinged reception hall was
just as it had been last time they were here, occupied by several busy-looking
people and thick with a scholarly hush. Fen stared at the enormous gilded doors
that led to Almalexia’s chamber, a slight feeling of betrayal in her breast.
She had admired Almalexia all her childhood, and to suddenly discover that the
goddess had helped in murdering her formal self was more than disheartening.

“Excuse me,” Fen said softly
to a wizened old woman that was sweeping the floor. The woman looked sharply at
Fen, glaring at her through the translucent folds of skin that draped over her
brow.

“And what would you be
wanting, a skinny little elf girl with a shaggy youth in tow?” she quipped in a
strained voice. “Run off together, have you? Come to try and cleanse your soul
through Almalexia’s glory? The Lady of Mercy may have room in her heart for
sinners and heathens, girl, but I do not.” She shook a knobby, quavering finger
at Fen.

“I’m looking for Fedris Hler,
actually,” Fen said, narrowing her eyes at the woman. “I was hoping you could
tell me where I might find him?”

“Are you terrorizing our
guests again, Varis?” someone said from behind them, and Fen and Julan turned
to see a tall, imposing Dunmer man in a simple brown robe with glass pauldrons
on both shoulders surveying them with a faint glimmer of amusement in his eye.
“I am Fedris Hler,” he added courteously to Fen and Julan. He gave them a small
bow, never taking his eyes off Fen. “The Lady Almalexia honours piety, no
matter the person you were before. How may I help you?”

Exceedingly aware of Varis’s
firm gaze on her back, Fen answered, “We were hoping to be of service to
Almalexia somehow.” Hler’s scarred face lit up and Varis made a clucking noise
of disapproval behind them.

“Ah! Truth-seekers! How
wonderful. I am always aware of those who might be able to serve our Lady
Almalexia. Few are worthy to do so. The Temple
and the city is guarded by the High Ordinators, and the Hands fulfill other
duties for the Lady. I am her Chief Steward.” He raised his palms to the
ceiling, opening his hands in an inviting gesture. “Now, if you wish to be of
use, we have some matters to discuss.” They followed Hler around to a large
desk that stood before the great doors of Almalexia’s sanctum, where he sat and
folded his hands, staring up at Fen intently.

“Perhaps you have already met
young King Hlaalu Helseth,” he said in a disgusted tone. “A foul man, unworthy
to sit on a throne. Still, he holds right of succession. The Lady must keep an
ever-watchful eye on this King, though, lest he do something that would be
detrimental to the Temple,
our fair city, or perhaps all of Morrowind. Currently, there are concerns about
some new recruits that Helseth seems to be training.”

“New recruits?” Fen repeated
curiously.

“A standing army is nothing
new in the city, though it is largely unnecessary,” Hler explained. “Mournhold
is protected by her walls from the outside, and by our Lady Almalexia from
within. None would dare mount an attack here. Still, tradition dictates that
the king maintain an army. We believe that Helseth is raising quite a different
sort of army...a goblin army.”

For a moment, Fen could only
stare at him. She knew that goblins resided in the dank sewers of the city, but
the thought that her father was training them as an army…? She wasn’t sure
whether she should laugh or be worried.

“R – Really? I – er – wouldn’t
have expected that from him.”

“Foul, vicious creatures,”
Hler spat. “No wonder Helseth has chosen them to be his footsoldiers. I know
that the goblins are being trained nearby, though not where, exactly. Ask
around the city about goblins. Someone will know. I wish for you to find the
location of goblin training area. When you do, kill the warchiefs – there
should be two. Sever the head of this army, and the rest will shatter like a
scrib. You might rid the city of their two Altmer trainers, as well. Complete
this task, and the Lady will be pleased.”

“Altmer trainers?” Fen
repeated in disbelief. This theory was becoming more ridiculous with every word
Hler spoke.

“Traditionally, the Altmer
have used the goblins to reinforce their armies. Why, I do not know. Rumor has
it that Helseth has contracted two Altmer to train his goblin army. If you find
these Altmer, it would be a service to rid the city of them as well.”

“I’ll….see what I can do
then.”

“Thank you,” the steward said
with that same odd smile, and he shooed them out of the Temple and into the grey late-morning light
once more.

“I don’t believe this,” Fen
said as soon as the colossal Temple
doors slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing off the courtyard walls.
“They honestly think that my father would train an army of goblins.” She let
out a single humourless laugh. She turned to Julan, expecting him to chime in
with a derisive agreement, but he stood awkwardly by her side, saying nothing.
“Julan?”

“Well…you have to admit, Fen,
it’s not unlikely.”

“You can’t be serious,” Fen
replied incredulously. “You too? You think Helseth would raise a standing army
of those foul beasts?”

“Let’s go,” she muttered after
a moment, and she led the way back to the Winged Guar, where they both changed
clothes and gathered their things for another venture into the sewers beneath
Mournhold.

Old Mournhold was, if
possible, even more dingy than it had been the last time they entered it. The
air was thick with the odor of defecation and rot, the walls and floor coated
with slime, the fetid brown water barely moving through the tunnels. Fen used
Azura’s ring to give herself a constant Night-Eye, while Julan carried a torch
through the dank halls.

They hadn’t been in this part
of the sewers before, and as they turned a corner they were immediately
accosted by a Nix-Hound-sized creature with a leathery brown hide and an odd
ridge along its back and a disorganized spew of cracked and yellowing tusks.
Fen cast a frost spell at it while Julan attacked it with Han-Sashael’s blade,
and after several moments the creature fell to the sewer floor with a dull
squelch.

“What in Mephala’s name…?”
Julan murmured, and Fen knelt beside the creature in the filth, examining its
glassy yellow eye.

“This is a Durzog,” she said
at once.

“How do you know that?”

“I had a pet one when I was
small,” Fen told him, standing up. “They breed tame ones that grow no bigger
than a hound. I kept him in the drawing room.”

“And I thought important
people just grew up with cats,” Julan snorted as they stepped over the enormous
corpse of the wild Durzog. They had barely made it down another hall when another
leather-skinned creature started towards them, although this one was quite
different from the Durzog.

The goblin was about as tall
as Fen’s shoulder, stooped over with its dull yellow eyes glaring and its
knuckles dragging on the stone floor. Its round head was covered by a leather
cap and a makeshift burlap tunic covered its emaciated torso. Despite the
pauldrons on its narrow shoulders and the bandages around its long feet, the
creature looked spindly and fragile as it limped toward them with a sword that
looked as if it had been whittled from bone.

Fen cast a simple fire spell
she had bought at it, one that would have brought a corprus stalker down in
seconds. The goblin, however, was only briefly engulfed by the fire before the
spell faded prematurely and the creature continued toward them, not breaking a
stride.

“They must be resistant to
fire,” Fen muttered, but Julan suddenly raced past her, Han-Sashael’s sword
aloft. The goblin sprang into a sudden battle position, unexpectedly, and began
to parry with Julan using surprising skill with its bone sword, clearly strong
despite its brittle appearance. Fen moved around to the other side of the
goblin, opting for a frost spell instead, and they had soon cut it down to an
unsightly lump upon the floor.

They continued down through
the tunnels of Old Mournhold, which gradually turned from the rank sewers to
dim caverns. There were more goblins at each twist in the path, and while their
combined abilities managed to put most of them down, they had to pause several
times so that Fen could extract a couple of healing potions before they moved
on.

At some point several hours
after they had first entered the sewers, their footsteps began to echo more
loudly than was normal. They turned a corner and found the tunnel opened up to
a cavern that was so enormous it was almost completely in shadow. They
proceeded with caution and were soon on a precipice overlooking the huge grotto
that must have been the heart of Old Mournhold, as it was decorated with the
grimy ruins of the once-glorious, swirling buildings.

There were also a great number
of goblins milling about the ruins, and Fen and Julan resigned to deal with
them with spell and bow from the cliff before descending.

“Gods,” Fen muttered, her
voice echoing many times off of the high rock walls.

“This place is huge,” Julan
added, and he cast a sidelong glance at her. Fen knew what he was thinking – it
would be hard to deny the possibility of Helseth’s goblin army now that she
could see they had a place to train and congregate.

“I don’t think any of them are
the warchiefs,” Fen said firmly, determined to prove Fedris Hler and Julan
wrong. “Let’s keep looking.”

They soon discovered a door
that led into a low-ceilinged ruin similar to the one they had found the Dark
Brotherhood in. This ruin was clogged with goblins and Durzogs, and Fen found
she was running out of health potions faster than she would have liked.

“Come on,” she muttered,
closing her bag and peering down a dim hallway. “This is the only one we
haven’t tried yet.” Fen led the way down the hall, squinting despite the
Night-Eye from the ring. As they neared the centre of the passage, Fen suddenly
felt her foot sink deeper down on a ratty rug then she would have expected. Not
even a second later, she realized that this was because there was nothing beneath
the rug.

A startled scream ripped out
from Fen’s throat as she plummeted downward. Overhead she heard Julan shout and
he shot past her, hitting the ground with a heavy grunt. Fen landed on top of
him, the two of them sprawled haphazardly nearly two stories from where they’d
fallen.

Before either of them could
move, Fen became aware of heavy breathing coming from all around them. She
slowly lifted her head. They were in a short hallway, completely blocked on
both sides by throngs of goblins, staring at them confusedly with their wicked
yellow eyes.

Fen scrambled to her feet,
pulling Julan up after her. They stood with their backs pressed against each
other’s, a spell of God’s Frost growing in Fen’s hand and Han-Sashael’s sword
in Julan’s. The goblins stared blankly at the two of them for a split second,
then started forward in a dull green wave. Fen felt Julan brace himself at the
same time she did, but the goblins suddenly froze where they were, their eyes
wide.

“What’s – What’s going on?”
Fen whispered, and she heard someone farther down the hallway give a sharp
command in a strange tongue she had never heard before. At once, the goblins
pushed past them, paying them no mind and lumbering as a group down the hall
and out of sight. There was a noise from the end of the hall as the goblins
disappeared, and suddenly a tall Altmer man in heavy-looking iron armour was
there, his blade drawn as he glared darkly at them.

“They’re weak to magic,” Fen
murmured quickly, and she let loose the God’s Frost spell that had been
building on her fingertips. A bitter chill filled the air, and when it cleared
the Altmer was on the ground, gasping and dusted with frost, his skin burned
red from the ice.

“Armion!” he shouted, quickly
getting to his feet as Julan rushed forward. The Altmer began to parry fiercely
with Julan while Fen kept a steady stream of Destruction spells going,
gradually decreasing his strength. When at last he fell dead, there were
several cuts across Julan’s face and his armour was badly dented, but they were
both, for the most part, unharmed.

“Gods,” Julan breathed,
dropping his blade with a ringing clatter to the floor and rotating his wrist
around. “He was good.”

“Here,” Fen said, coming
forward with a healing potion. Julan had just downed the bottle when they heard
footsteps running down the hall. Julan hurriedly snatched up his sword again
just as a second Altmer man appeared around the corner. He spotted his fellow’s
body on the floor before them and his face twisted in rage.

Fen’s magicka was running low,
and she pulled a staff enchanted with shock damage from her back. They met the
Altmer halfway down the hall, and for a moment, everything was a confusion of
sparks and light and clashing and blood. Then the Altmer fell, joining his
fellow upon the ground.

“You okay?” Fen asked,
glancing at Julan. He nodded, sheathing his sword and glancing at her.

“You’re bleeding,” he said,
pointing to a spot right below her cheekbone. Fen brought her hand to her face
and came away with dark blood on her fingers.

“I’m all right,” she said,
blotting the blood with her sleeve. “We need to save our health potions. And I
already have a scar there from when Bolvyn Venim slapped me with his ebony
gauntlet on, remember? Another one can’t hurt.” She glanced uneasily down at
the Altmer bodies on the floor. “Let’s keep going. We still have to find the
two Warchiefs.”

They continued through the
tunnels, eventually exchanging the ruins for more cave-like tunnels that were
wrought with goblins. In one round room, they were accosted by an enormous
Durzog that looked like it was wearing the same kind of leather armour as the
goblins. As soon as it fell dead, it revealed two enormous goblins with
bulging, muscular arms and horned heads that scraped the ceiling, standing
there with their beady eyes narrowed. Fen backed Julan up and immediately cast
God’s Frost at the Warchiefs, filling the cavern with a bitter cold.

When the frost cleared, the
Warchiefs were still there, lumbering toward them with fury in their tiny eyes.
Fen quickly summoned a Frost Atronach to help them, and for several moments
there was a blurred confusion of noise and cold. After what seemed like ages,
there were two heavy thuds, one after the other, and the warchiefs fell dead.

Fen swept one hand toward the
Atronach and it faded, leaving her and Julan breathing heavily in the dark
tunnel, surrounded by the corpses of the goblins and the Durzog.

“I’m assuming those were the
Warchiefs?” Julan said faintly.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fen
murmured, and they made their way back through the twisting tunnels and out
into the darkness of Godsreach. “It’s nearly midnight,” Fen said, checking the
watch inside her locket. “Let’s go back to the inn. Fedris Hler can wait until
morning. I’m exhausted.”

They made their way back to
the Winged Guar, where Fen immediately filled the bathtub in her room with
steaming water and stripped off her sewer-soaked clothes. Every muscle in her
body ached, and all she wanted to do was sleep and forget the disturbing
evidence that pointed toward the goblin army rumour being undeniably true.